Gemotions

The antique shop was hers, and hers alone, thanks to a judicious investment and a father who'd always favoured her. She ran her fingers across the velvet rope, a silent command to the clerk to clear the space for her. The thought of her newly discovered half-sibling, some waitress in Ohio, filled her with a quiet, inner satisfaction. Let *them* have the hand-me-down inheritance; *she* had the real treasures, the things that truly mattered.

The email lay open on her tablet, a passive-aggressive missive from the lawyer. “… equally entitled to a portion…” The gall! She flicked the screen off with a dismissive gesture. Outside, the rain seemed to bow to her presence, the cobblestone street gleaming under a quickly-appearing rainbow. Another lucky day.

She selected a delicate music box, its notes tinkling a delicate melody as she held it. The shop owner, a man whose face had often held the vague disapproval only a well-established wealth could elicit, now watched her with an odd deference. He knew who signed the checks.